


eyes on me

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Love/Hate, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: It's not love. Not by a long shot. But it's something, perhaps something without a name, a feeling he can't describe, and god almighty, he's addicted to it.





	eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bi_Duckling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_Duckling/gifts).



> THE URGE TO CALL THIS SLORP WAS OVERWHELMING Y'ALL
> 
> Anyway! This was a fun little short piece commissioned by my friend Gail! She wanted some Dark/Mark smut and y'know, my dumbass was like "huh oral sex will probably be easier than anal" 
> 
> this is a straight lie and i'm sorry 
> 
> I apologize for how grossly un-sexy this is, literally my first time doing a blow job in a fic so I'm very, very new to it. Overall, though, I enjoyed writing it, and enjoyed the practice that it gave me. 
> 
> Hope you guys can find something to enjoy in it!

The thing about Dark was not only was he a permanent fixture in Mark's life, but the fact of the matter was that he fucking hated everything about him.

He had an air to him that just reeked of pompous arrogance and an aroma that tasted distinctly of winter during the months that nobody liked. He was a late February sort of man—the time in the winter where you really wanted winter to be over, but it loomed and hung around like a sickly, ghostly air. The shortest month of the year, but the longest lasting, somehow. 

With Dark, he was just...awful. This is the same man who probably punts cats for fun in his free time, relishing in the way they creak and squelch against his pristine, perfect shoes. He exists as a monolith of bad intentions and bad motives and bad _everything_ , so much so that he wants to bury him alive, or something equally as terrible.

It seems to be mutual, at least. Dark seems to loathe the fact that Mark breathes at any given moment, determine to choke the last breath out of him with every fiber of his being, and yet--

And yet, despite how powerful Dark is, he never seems to follow through.

That's probably the weirdest and most annoying thing about Dark. It's that what he says and what he does are two drastically different things. Dark's lips say that he despises whatever Mark is, everything that he is, but Dark's eyes always drift far away, like it's not quite true, even when he's got that stupid fucking sneer on his face.

But for all he wants to drown Dark in a pool of his own blood, he still...

Dark knows him better than anyone, anything in this world. He may be a shady ass demon, he may be something worse, he may even be the Devil himself, but he's never needed anyone quite like he needs him.

He'll never tell him this. Dark's got a big enough ego without Mark feeding into that. He tosses Mark around like he owns him, hands pressing into him in ways that are just a touch too rough to be romantic, but not hard enough to be full-scale abuse. 

Mark's sure that the experience sobers him, to a degree. The calamity of the world around him often suffocates him, buries him beneath a weight that steals every ounce of energy he has from him. But in the pits of that despair, that desperation for anything other than a gnawing emptiness, Dark's there, and Dark provides. 

This is how he ends up here, every time. Waiting for Dark to arrive in the dead of night, waiting for the clutch of his cold, ragged hand closing around his throat, a threat, a promise. This is how he ends up waiting for Dark's formidable arrival, the callous of his fingers against the dips of his skin, hungry, wanting, _bitter_. Like Dark's angry that he has this human, carnal desire, so unlike him, but nothing but him.

What Dark wants, Dark will have. What Dark wants to know, Dark will find out. 

What Dark is forced to be with, Dark will own. 

And Mark has absolutely no reservations whatsoever—Dark owns him, completely, utterly. In his mind, in his body, in his soul. Dark places his mouth where no other has the right to, where no other has the privilege to even look upon. One would think this is an honor, a grand statement to be worshiped in such a way. 

One would be wrong. 

The worst part is, he gets to live his life. Mark's always been able to live a relatively normal life, going to college, getting a job, eating dinner with his family on holidays. He gets the experience of travel, of driving for the first time, of having friends and people he holds near and dear. It's just that Dark's presence is ever there, and ever forbidding that he lets anyone know him like Dark does. 

He's a possessive asshole, that's for sure. 

But Dark...Dark takes care of him, much as he hates to say it. He's an anchor of sorts, tethering him to reality when his mind wants to do nothing but drift far, far away. He keeps that beating heart in Mark's chest going, even when he wants it to stop, even when he wants to tear it out. He provides a sole comfort that no one has ever been close to being able to replicate, satisfying something so inhuman and guttural within his bones. 

The first time someone ever hit him, Dark had killed them. Completely, utterly, without hesitation. Mark had only found out about it later. And as horrifying as it was, it said a lot about what Dark thought of him.

It's not love. Not by a long shot. But it's something, perhaps something without a name, a feeling he can't describe, and god almighty, he's addicted to it. 

“Eyes on me, poppet,” and that low, dulcet rumble, slinking over his skin like syrup dipped in cyanide. It's half a sneer, but half genuinely reminding. “I want those pretty little eyes on me, always.”

“Bossy tonight,” Mark simpers, training his gaze onto the face of the demon in front of him.

“Tonight?” Dark raises a brow, those lips tipping into a hint of a smile, amused. 

“Tonight,” Mark finds himself saying, and he's grateful for the way that Dark chooses to say nothing in response to how he leans just a bit into his touch. 

There's something calming about Dark's hands, right before they grab him, shoving him down, forcing him open. It's like standing in the eye of the storm, right before everything goes to shit, it's peaceful. Beautiful. Comforting.

It's about as tender as Dark ever gets.

“I think I like you better when you don't speak,” he purrs at him, nails trailing over his lips. Without thinking, Mark opens his mouth, allowing the digit to slip inside effortlessly. “There we are. Giving that mouth something to do beside talk is always more...tolerable.”

Mark thinks about speaking around his finger, purely out of spite, but instead chooses to just circle his tongue around it, coating it in warmth and saliva. Dark's black eyes seem fixated with that. 

He seems to think that Mark has an oral fixation, but he's pretty damn sure it's Dark with the oral-whatever. 

“You do that so well,” Dark says airily, framed like a praise, but it doesn't quite get there. He slips another finger inside, and he really does have half a mind to bite down. “It's like you were made to choke on me, you know?”

He rolls his eyes, spitting his fingers out. “Dude. You really gotta work on that dirty talk.” 

“Does it matter how good or bad I am?” he scoffs. “You'll do it, regardless. I see little point in dressing it up for you.” 

Mark lets out a soft, low sigh, a mixture of exasperation and fondness bubbling in his stomach. It's endearing, sometimes, the way that Dark is just so goddamn blunt, straightforward and to the point, like he has no understanding of human behavior at all. But he has little time to dwell on this thought as Dark's hands thread through his hair, a silent demand, and Mark's kind of eager to get this show on the road, too.

He drops to his knees, the carpet floor resounding a soft thud. Glancing up at Dark with big, lidded eyes, Mark takes his time working the button of his pants open, lowering the zipper as slow as possible, just to piss him off.

The hand tightening in his hair lets him know he's done his job, and Mark smiles as he pulls out his cock, half-hard and interested, to say the least. Some small part of him wants to just get up and leave him like this, because he's never pretended to be anything other than a little shit, but he also just really, really likes having Dark's dick down his throat. 

Far be it from him to ever mention that, though.

Mark gives his shaft a lazy, languid stroke, the friction rough with no slick, before he gives soft, kitten licks to the head. He tastes the bitterness of his precum, swirling his tongue around the tip before taking it into his mouth. 

It never gets any less weird, having a dick in his mouth. Mark, even though fully aware that he's bi as hell, never really understood the appeal. The first time Dark had asked (or commanded, rather), Mark had almost smacked him upside the head, because there was no way that he was putting a sex organ down his throat, not when the asshole has the prime opportunity to piss all over him in the process.

He never did, of course. Dark's relatively heartless, but not that heartless, or gross. He's got a lot of kinks, not limited to beating the shit out of him with various instruments, but pissing isn't one of them. 

Mark flattens his tongue against his shaft, tilting his chin up to take more into his mouth. His favorite part about teasing the hell out of him is the way that Dark just fucking moans, his facade of bravado crumbling, lips spitting out the prettiest, filthiest words, hands tight in his hair, guiding him up and down. He loves the way he just goes from being calm and collected to a mess, just from a little bit of action. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dark hisses above him. He's making these _sounds_ , ones that definitely aren't human by any stretch of the word, and it's fucking _amazing_. “Fuck. Your mouth is so _divine_ , poppet. Just...like that. There's a good boy.” 

Being called a _good boy_ really shouldn't do what it does to him. Mark hums around his cock, his cheeks warm, both from strain and from flush. He bobs his head up and down the length, from root to tip, working him in a way that he knows Dark loves.

It's not like he's immune to this, anyhow. Reaching down to his pants, he pops the button, dipping his fingers beneath the fabrics confining his own erection, palming at himself. He nestles his hand there, thrusting against it in bursts as he hollows out his cheeks, pressing his tongue against the hot veins of the aching length. 

Dark's cock bumps the back of his throat, and he gags around it, moving to pull off when his demon's hand grips him tighter, holding him in place. Tears form in his eyes, struggling for breath as he glances up at him, confused, pleading.

“You can take it, poppet,” those sharp hands smooth out his hair, and he sees a smile on those lips. He rotates his hips, thrusting loosely in his cheeks, and Mark can see _and_ feel the saliva trickling down his chin, coating Dark's cock. He sucks in a heavy breath the moment he's able. “Beautiful. Keep going, sweetness. Touch yourself. I want to see what belongs to me.” 

Not needing to be told twice, Mark shimmies his jeans down, his length twitching in the cool air. Reality always gets colder around Dark, anyhow. He resumes his pace, choking down Dark's shaft with as much gusto as he can, giving himself rough jerks, creating a fist to fuck into. His demon takes this newfound confidence as an excuse to abuse the hell out of his throat, grabbing the back of his head to fuck his mouth. 

It's kind of hot. Dark's always been a bit more dominant in their little tango—or a lot more dominant—but this is almost a new level. He feels _used_ , marginally more useful than a toy, honestly, and that...

That really shouldn't make his dick hurt more than it already does.

Without warning, Dark's fingers anchor themselves in his black hair, needles of pain shooting through him as warm, hot liquid spills down his throat. He whispers filthy words to him, in between groans of ecstasy, wrapping around him like a welcome pressure. He swallows it, nose wrinkling at the taste, and Dark pulls out with a wet pop. 

Just to be cheeky, he presses a gentle kiss to the oversensitive head. 

“Don't think you're done yet,” Dark warns him, peering down him with something distinctly animalistic. “Did I say you could stop? Or do you not want to come at all?”

“Thought I could only come if I was good,” Mark rasps back, voice a tad hoarse. He tries to come off smug anyway. “You getting soft on me?”

Dark scoffs at him, tapping a finger over his spit-slicked lips. “Shall I leave you, then? A pretty little ring to go around your cock. Leave you like a bitch in heat.” 

He shakes his head, because as much fun as it is to tease him, Dark _will_ do it. And normally, orgasm denial is fine, but he really wants to come right now. “I can be good.” 

“Then do it,” Dark commands, moving back to sit in his desk chair. His legs spread, he looks like something out of a porn magazine, yet still somehow regal. He rests his elbow on the arm, gazing at him, hungry, like a piece of meat, skin glistening, eyes wanting, expectant. “Give me a show. Show me how badly you want it.” 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Mark grips his erection tight, using the leaking precum from the head to lube himself. Gliding along his cock, he braces himself forward, digging his nails into the carpet as he finds himself closer to relief.

“Eyes on me,” that voice reaches him, harsh and unforgiving. “Look at me when you come, or you don't come at all.”

It takes a lot of effort, it really does, but Mark drags his gaze up to meet that unyielding stare, finding the barest hint of a smirk there as one, two, three passes of his cock goes by, and he's spilling all over the carpet, staining his hands and shirt. He shakes, but doesn't break eye contact, ignoring the droop that follows immediately after. 

His demon looks positively delighted in the vague, luminescent glow of the street lights outside. Mark pants, coming down from the high, fighting off the urge to just lie there on the floor, dick out and in his own cum, and fall asleep. 

“Now, now, poppet,” Dark murmurs, snapping his fingers. “The night is young. You've not given up on me already, have you?”

Bastard. 

Bastard with an unusually high sex drive and ridiculously low refractory period. 

Mark lets out a sigh, before inhaling deep. Using what little brain function he still has, he kicks off his jeans, swallowing down his pride as he crawls across the carpet towards him. Dark's already reaching a hand out to cup his chin. 

“No sir,” he says dutifully, batting his eyes in the way that he knows drives Dark _wild_. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like what I do? Consider supporting me on my [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/A234MZ4)!
> 
> You can also visit me at voidskelly.tumblr.com!


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